


A New King's Guide to Courtship

by beamirang



Series: The King is Dead (Long Live the King?!) [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Disaster Michael Guerin, Antar, Fluff, Future Fic, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Royalty, Sexual Content, Who put Michael in charge of a kingdom?, alex is a little shit, everyone loves alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamirang/pseuds/beamirang
Summary: Michael's got this whole King thing down.Spoiler Alert: he really doesn't.Fortunately, Alex is there to help. Or, you know, be a massively distracting pain in the ass.





	A New King's Guide to Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> We all needed some fluff, so here be fluff! 
> 
> It's mostly silliness with some politics thrown in for flavoring. Featuring Actual Alien Disaster Micahel Guerin, Alex '100% fucking with you' Manes and the world's least romantic marriage proposal. 
> 
> There may be more, because this is super fun to write. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in! :D

“So. This is nice.”

Stiring in the cradle of Michael’s arm, Alex manages to prop himself up on one hip and level him with a look so flat and disappointed it can only be crafted from decades of practice.

“Seriously?” he asks. “We travel twelve million light years and fight actual space armies to get here, and all you’ve got is ‘ _this is nice_ ’?”

Michael stares up at the sky above them. It’s a riot of purples and lilacs, pinks and blues and gemstone brilliance. It’s an alien sunset, on an alien planet, but for the first time in months, Michael doesn’t feel like an interloper on the planet he was born on.

He thinks that Alex might, technically, have kidnapped him. He did barge into yet another council meeting and insist on ‘borrowing His Majesty for an urgent matter’. His Majesty being Michael. Because Michael is a King now, and if that’s not the funniest fucking thing ever.

They won’t mind. They like Alex more than they like him, anyway, and Michael doesn’t blame them. Alex knows how to issue orders with the expectation of a ‘Sir, yes Sir!’ and has transitioned to being Lord Protector far more smoothly than Michael has to being crowned King. Michael still has to remind himself not to add an ‘ _if, like, you’re not busy_ ’ onto the end of any request he makes.

They won’t mind, but they’ll absolutely give him shit for it tomorrow. In that totally polite, never say a bad word about it, 100% Team Michael way they have. It’ll be mental shit. They’ll be thinking it.

The irony of it all being that Alex, formerly so deep in the closet that he slept in a mountain of missing socks, will give less than a tenth of a fuck that everyone and their dog knows that the ‘urgent matter’ in question is actually his dick.

“Very nice?”

The noise Alex makes is one of supreme disgust. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Hey,” Michael protests, “I’m a King now! I’ve got shit going for me.”

“You can barely dress yourself,” Alex says wryly, tugging at Michael’s half buttoned tunic.

“I can fasten it up, if you want-“ Michael starts to use his powers, only for Alex to slide his hand between folds of fabric and pinch his nipple sharply. “Okay, okay!” He gets a human blanket for his trouble as Alex rolls on top of him, seemingly unable to trust Michael not to dress himself. There are some serious double standards here, but that doesn’t stop Michael making space for Alex between his legs and trying to shove a hand down the back of his pants.

The fashion here is strange and intricate and Michael feels a bit like a kid playing dress up. Alex looks edible. Alex always looks fucking edible. He’s also got more experience with uniforms, so there’s that. Doesn’t make it fair, though.

“I think you just like to tease me,” Alex murmurs, his lips brushing that sensitive spot below Michael’s ear that always makes his toes curl. “Sitting there all authoritative, your shirt half buttoned. I’m gonna fuck you on that damn throne one of these days, I swear to god.”

 _Um. Yes. Yes please._ It’s the most uncomfortable fucking chair in existence and he’s the guy who has lived his life on lawn chairs. That said, If _Alex_ was to sit on it, and Michael was to sit on _him_ …

He’s never going to be able to hold any kind of official session on that throne without getting hard. Still… Antar is big on conquering shit and they’ve got more than a few… sketchy traditions he’s slowly working with Max and Isobel to unpick. They’re progressive as fuck in some areas and really…. not, in others.

He’s King, so he probably won’t win any supporters if he gets caught riding his human boyfriend’s dick on the cultural heart-stone of their nation, but they probably wouldn’t have any issues with Alex on his knees, sucking him off.

Alex might have some issues with it… in public, at least.

“Is-“ Michael draws in a ragged breath, his spine arching as Alex nips and sucks and _who the fuck is he calling a tease_ with a mouth like that? “Is that why you don’t come to Council Meetings anymore?”

“You told me not to,” Alex moves down to his collarbone and these are really, _really_ uncomfortable pants.

“I did?” Is Alex wearing a belt? Yes. Okay, next question. Will Alex murder him in his sleep if he uses his powers to unfasten said belt?

Also, probably yes.

Fuck it. There are worse ways to die.

“Well, Avax did,” Alex amends, lifting up and arching an eyebrow, well aware of the fact that there’s now more than enough space between the curve of his spine and the swell of his ass for Michael to really get a handful.

The mention of Michael’s seneschal is enough to draw him up short. Avax is maybe six hundred and a billionty one years old and he’s constantly on the edge of heart failure when in Michael’s presence, so he’s the last person he wants to think about when he’s seconds away from coming in his pants like a teenager.

“Apparently it flies in the face of tradition to flaunt your - I think he called me your paramour - during the High Council.” He continues to mouth distractingly at Michael’s collarbone, as though he’s not casually dropping bombs as he goes.

“Wait. What? My _what_?” He and Alex have been many things over the years, been _called_ many things, but never anything as pretentious as paramours. Or as bullshit. “You’re Lord Protector! You have a fancy title and everything!”

Making sure Alex has a place, defined and valued, at Michael’s side is literally the most important thing. Before State, before everything.

“Baby,” Alex pushes himself up and gently takes Michael’s jaw in his palm, “you do know what that title means, right?”

“It means you protect shit!” Michael says shrilly. “Doesn’t it? That's what the database said! They said it was the traditional title of a King’s closest male companion and I’m now realizing that they mean close in the biblical sense, holy _fuck_.” A ripple of laughter runs through Alex’s whole body. “This isn’t funny, Alex! How are you finding it funny?”

“I’m finding it hilarious,” Alex chuckles. “Only you, Michael Guerin, King of the Eastern Province of Antar, could literally stamp the words ‘likes to suck the king’s cock’ on my chest and not fucking know it.”

Michael’s eyes go immediately to the seal Alex wears on his chest - the royal emblem, surrounded by swords and _sweet jesus fuck_. “I’m not this stupid,” he says weakly, “I’m not. I swear.”

“I know,” Alex kisses him softly, then settles back down and puts his head on Michael’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you punch me? Earth Alex would absolutely have punched me. In the nuts.” He wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and holds him tight.

“Earth Alex left a lot of baggage behind when he left the atmosphere,” he says. “And it’s not exactly a lie: I do like sucking your cock.”

“I suppose punching your King would totally get you arrested as well,” Michael says morosely. He’s halfway between mad and mortified.

“Nah,” Alex says. “Your guards like me way more than they like you. I could totally stage another coup if I wanted to.”

Michael believes that one hundred and nine percent. He’s already orchestrated the removal of one King from this planet. He probably only has to bat his eyelashes and someone will throw Michael out the window for him.

“You, er, don’t, do you? Want to?”

“I have a fairly vivid memory of getting down on one knee and swearing my undying fealty to your royal ass,” Alex snorts.

Michael squirms. Oh yeah, that was intense. When that day finally came to an end they just about managed to get the door to Michael’s stupidly fancy champers closed before Alex was fucking him against it. Then there was the whole coronation shit. That was a pretty big deal as well.

“You like my ass,” Michael preens.

“I do,” Alex agrees. “It’s a great ass.”

“Your ass is pretty awesome, too. I’m sorry I stamped ‘Property of the Crown’ on it.”

“Are you?”

Good question. Yes, but also resoundingly no. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” he says because that’s the crux of it. Michael might’ve had to take the throne by force, but he did it for Alex as much as he did it for his birthright, and he hates the crown of conquest that has won him. Alex isn’t a prize and he’s not property. “Did it?”

Alex goes quiet as he thinks. “At first,” he admits. “but for the most part, no one has treated me any differently.”

“Other than Avax,” Michael says darkly. “He’s getting his head chopped off. Or he’s fired. Whatever.” Alex laughs silently against him.

“Other than Avax, who has earned a nice, quiet retirement after dealing with all your shit these last few months.”

Michael grumbles under his breath, only melting when Alex kisses him again.

“There’s another title I could give you,” Michael muses after a while.

“Does this one come with subtext?” Alex asks.

Probably. Totally. Not even subtext. One hundred percent text. “Technically it comes with a throne next to mine.”

He told his breath, waiting for the response he’s replayed in his head a million times over the years. Okay, this wasn’t exactly how he planned on proposing, but it’s fitting. Kinda. Them. Alone. Under the stars. Not about to be murdered horribly.

“Hmm,” Alex snuggles in closer, his hands under Michael’s shirt, following his warmth. “I’ll think about it.”

“You - you’ll _think_ about it?” Seriously. _Seriously_?

Alex peeks up, his cheeks pink with mischief. “Yes.”

“Yes you’ll marry me, or yes you’ll think about it?” He’s a fucking menace. One hundred percent designed to drive Michael fucking insane. And holy shit, he loves him.

“I’ll think about it. Who knows, I might get a better offer.” His eyes are alight under the glow of nine moons, his skin bathed in starlight, and he’s a fucking _dick_.

“A better-“ Michael rolls him over and pins him down, their fingers curled together. “I have a crown! And a throne! And a ball on a stick!”

“That’s a scepter, baby,” Alex says patiently.

“One of those! _And_ I love you! _And!_ I conquered a planet because some intergalactic douchebag kidnapped you!”

“That’s true,” Alex sighs beneath him. “That was really hot, by the way.” Damn right it was. Michael literally leveled a battlefield with his mind.

“So? Are you gonna marry me?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Michael stands abruptly. “You want romance? I can do romance! You want flowers? I can get flowers. I can get pink heart-shaped candy and-“

“It’s the middle of the night,” Alex points out, flushed and almost breathless with laughter.

“ _King_!” Michael points at himself with his thumb. “We’re getting flowers! Come on!”

Fucking paramour. Michael fumes, grabbing hold of Alex’s hand and marching him back into the palace, his own shirt unfastened, Alex’s pants undone and okay, they really aren’t helping themselves, but fuck it.

The first guard he spots, he drags Alex over to. “We’re getting married!” He announces, pointing at Alex who can barely stand upright, one arm wrapped around his ribs.

“Very good, Sire, congratulations,” the guard says, as though being accosted by his King in the middle of the night is a perfectly normal occurrence.

“Hi Javvai,” Alex says.

“Hey, Alex,” Javvai says, relaxing for a moment before remembering Michael is still there. “I mean, Lord Protector, I mean-“

“He better not be one of your ‘better options’,” Michael says, narrowing his eyes. He rounds on Javvai. “Hands off my husband!”

“Future.”

“Hands off my future husband,” Michael amends. “Wait. That’s a yes?”

“It’s an ‘ _oh my god you are insane_ ’,” Alex says. “Of course I’ll marry you, idiot.”

There are probably rules about calling the King an idiot in public, but it’s accurate and who the fuck cares? “I love you so much,” Michael says tearfully.

Alex wraps an affectionate arm around his waist and starts to steer them back to the royal chambers. “I love you too.”

“Are you marrying me because I’m King?”

“No, Michael.”

“Are you marrying me because you like my ass?”

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

“Nope!”

Michael’s got this whole thing _down_.

 


End file.
